Mumford with no sons

As I sit here thinking about the latest woes of my adolescent life, I look down at my cat, Mumford, and realize that I never told his somewhat epic story.

Okay so maybe it’s not as epic as it is impulsive.

Ever since I can remember I have told my mom that as soon as I can drive I am going out in search of a house with a free kitten sign outside of it and get myself a kitten. I still find it somewhat hilarious that she didn’t believe me.

It was a fateful day, the day I got Mumford. One of my fellow peers (who’s name I will not mention) was driving me back to school from my New Visions class when suddenly I stopped whatever I was talking about and screamed “FREE KITTENS.”

We had indeed just passed free kittens sign that stood, drenched, outside possibly one of the sketchiest houses I have ever seen. We were brave though, and we were impulsive, and we were bored, and knocking on that houses door and inquiring about their kittens didn’t seem like a bad idea in the slightest.

Needless to say we walked out with possibly one of the cuddliest kittens on the face of this planet, and named him Mumford (We had been jamming to “The Cave”). After the ride home (where we left him before going back to school for the last few periods) I called my mother and made up an amazing heart wrenching story of a kitten; abandoned on the side of the road, looking starved and abused, wandering, lost and confused without a roof over its head to protect it from the down pour of rain.

Unless you’re name is Erik DeFrusio, you are a liar if you’re saying that that story didn’t melt your heart just a little. With the added “We don’t have to keep him, I just wanted to get him out of the rain.” it won my mom over, and to this day Mumford is with me, cuddly and healthy as ever.